


Dry dunes cater for jumping boys

by NeonHearts (WoWirAndersSind)



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3593550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoWirAndersSind/pseuds/NeonHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because Kendall has the habit of caring too much. And James has the habit of never caring at all.<br/>But James is this vivid firestorm, pp-chains and neutron stars. He turns Kendall cosmic, stirs up his atoms and makes it easy to lean in. To lean in, and wait for it to end."</p><p>Because I have a terrible faible for cosmic metaphors and poetic angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dry dunes cater for jumping boys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skyline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/gifts).



> I have no idea what lead to this, but to be honest it's probably because I reread skyline's masterpiece "A song you'll regret" and I just had to. 
> 
> If skyline ever comes online again,  
> well, this is for you.
> 
> Also this isn't a complete story, it's more of a drabble. Just random moments over a time span of roughly a year.  
> Also unbeta'd, like always.

"You care too much, you know that?" He tells him as they break the kiss. James' voice is soft, barely a whisper; but it pierces the silence and hits Kendall harder than any lightning, any thunder ever could. James' lips are glistening with saliva and sweat, both not exclusively his, and Kendall wants to lick it all off. Taste him, taste himself on James' tongue; the inside of his mouth and the outlines of his lips. He wants to make it all his. Always has. Never could.

Not really. 

Because you see, just because they're fucking, it doesn't mean James is his. Because James doesn't love. He doesn't do feelings.   
For somebody who acts like they don't even exist, he's pretty good at playing with them. Crushing them. 

Kendall leans forward again, hands digging themselves into the mattress as he positions himself on top of James'; arms quivering and breath fracturing. There's too much fabric, and he can see a black-blue bruise peeking out from beneath the hem of his shirt. He wants to yank the stupid thing off and cover those ridiculous love bites with his own mouth, mark this boy all over again. Dig his teeth into his sun-kissed, glistening skin and taste the sweat that has pooled inside the hollow of his clavicle. James lifts his hand, cupping Kendall's cheek before his hand slides down, thumb retracing his collarbones, and with every touch, Kendall can swear he can feel it burning right through him. James is leaving his imprint all over Kendall's body, branding him with ember hands and those forestfire eyes. 

As their lips meet, it's a shock to his system. He tastes all sweet and the feeling of his lips against his own is sending shivers down his spine. And as James tongues open his mouth, Kendall whispers before rolling his hips against the groin of the brunet beneath him. "It's always too much. With you, it always is."   
A soft groan is all he gets for an answer, and the air that accompanied the sound fills his lungs, the sound resonating beneath his ribcage. And he doesn't know if the movement, the friction, provoked it; maybe it were the words he said, the confession he just made, but suddenly James digs his fingernails into his back and pulls him even closer, his skin unbearably hot, radiating through the thin layers of cotton that separate them. And it shouldn't surprise him; yes, of course James feels like he's burning up. He's always been like that, this firecracker. His firecracker. His fire boy.

Because with James, god, with James it's always fire. He's supernovae burning bright and forest fires devouring seas of evergreen. He leaves nothing but seared land and burned soil, footprints made out of ashes. He's this sparkle that sets people ablaze, and waits for them to burn down. He ignites the fuse and watches as it fizzles out or it all goes to shit with a bang. That's the way it goes with James. 

Always with a bang, never a whimper. 

Kendall presses his lips against James' neck, tongue darting out, the sweat burning on the tip of his tongue. Teeth scraping over soft, slick skin and a low growl threatening to leave his mouth, but he swallows it down with the taste of James. As he finally gets James out of his shirt, the contact of skin to skin feels as if it's too much. He breaks away, leans back, straddles James and gasps for air. 

James is looking up at him, eyes glowing neon in the dim light that fills apartment 2J. The light seems to pool around him; as if it's attracted to this vigorous, vibrant, impossible boy.  And Kendall lets his hand hover inches above's James skin, who arches into his touch until his fingertips are digging into the soft, slick skin of his lower abdomen. 

"Don't stop," he demands, voice hoarse and cracking. And yes, anything James wants.   
Kendall leans in again, teeth clashing and hands burying themselves into long strands of brown hair. 

* * *

 

"It's not healthy, Kendall," Logan tells him, earning a glare and a hiss; the air leaving Kendall's mouth through clenched teeth, all angry and cat-like.   
"I know."   
The look Logan sends his way is killing him. He can live with hatred, he doesn't give a fuck about disdain. But Logan's eyes are filled with pity.   
"Stop feeling bad for me," he demands, "It's James. James would never hurt me."   
  
And that's not true. James always had a habit of hurting Kendall. Never on purpose, but oh so often and more than enough. James mouth acts faster than his brain ever could, and the words that leave it aren't always nice.   
They're always honest, though. But honesty hurts most of the time. 

"He is hurting you," Logan whispers, shaking his head and Kendall just wants to push him against the wall and slap that commiserating look right off his pretty face. Because, yeah, Logan cares too much.

Somehow all of them do.

* * *

"We should stop." The whisper leaves his mouth before he can stop himself, and he can feel James stiffening in response; hands still clutched around his waist, chest against back.   
"No," James growls, hands now on Kendall's side, nails breaking through the white, translucent skin that stretches taut over Kendall's hipbones.   
"No."   
  
And as his lips are suddenly warm and wet on the back of his neck, he tries not to lean in. But he wants, oh, he wants.   
He also wants to protest, wants to turn around and press the palms of his hands against James' broad, toned chest. He wants to push him away and run. Run as fast as he can. 

Fleeing from imminent earthquakes and avalanches trying to eat him whole. 

"Don't play it like this, Kendall," James growls into his ear, "Don't act like I will break you. You're not that fragile."   
But Kendall doubts that. Yes, James used to look up to him. Back then, when he was this blond, vivid mix of talent and energy; all inspirational words and hands amicably resting on shoulders. James still looks up to him, oblivious to the fact that he tore him down. Took him apart and spilled his insides out on the cold, hard wood of his bedroom floor. 

As James palms his erection through the thin fabric of Kendall's boxers and slender fingers dip beneath the elastic band of the plaid fabric, he can't help but lean in, a sigh leaving his mouth.   
"What if you still break me?" He murmurs, not caring if James hears him or not.   
But James suddenly holds still, breathing heavily into his ear as his fingers freeze around Kendall's cock. And Kendall isn't having any of that, honestly. He jerks his hips forwards, urging James on to move again; and he does.   
And the words that leave James mouth the next moment, those words, will forever be engraved into the scarred tissue of his heart.   
"Then I swear, I'll do everything to mend you again." 

And Kendall knows it's a lie. He knows it better than James does. Because James won't. Because James can't. 

James his fingertips are pressing into his hips with such force he is sure tomorrow he will find a string of bruises, a perfect blue-print of James' hand, drawn onto his skin.

Because Kendall has the habit of caring too much. And James has the habit of never caring at all. But James is this vivid firestorm, pp-chains and neutron stars. He turns Kendall cosmic, stirs up his atoms and makes it easy to lean in. To lean in, and wait for it to end.

* * *

 

James always leaves his marks. 

Bleeding lips and slow-fading bruises and angry red marks and -

raw, raw pain.

There's this aching longing, this yearning that tugs at the muscles of his heart and threatens to rip it open and with every touch, with every shared breath and every movement of their lips against each other, it grows and increases. Takes up more and more of whatever is left of Kendall.

And maybe it's this pain, maybe it's just the desperation, maybe just the years of pent up frustration resulting from him falling for his best friend or maybe just the mixture of all of the above that leads him to leaning in as he finds himself too close to Logan. Noses touching, breaths mingling and suddenly his hands are all over the smaller boy's body and his lips are pressing to Logan's mouth with such brute force he's sure it must hurt. 

But he doesn't care. 

For once, he's not the one hurting. 

* * *

 

When James finds out he's been sleeping with Logan, he's pissed. He's pissed and angry and fucks Kendall harder than ever before. And Kendall doesn't mind.   
He just gasps and throws his head back while James thrusts into him, relentless and ruthless. 

"You're mine," James whispers in the crook of his neck, biting down as if to emphasise his words. He repeats it, a steady wash of words whispered against the skin beneath his ear. Desperation colouring his voice, all trembling and breaking.   
_you'remineyou'remineyou'remine_

And yes. He is. 

But James isn't his. 

Because forest fires and whirlwinds of stardust don't belong to anyone. 

* * *

 

"Tell me you're mine," he moans into Logan's mouth while his hands are tracing the outlines where his ribs are sticking out.   
"I'm yours." Logan obeys, and once he's said it the first time, it's like a floodgate wide open, words spilling out.   
An endless string of I'm yours and half-hearted prayers making the air near his ears vibrate. 

His tongue is sliding up the side of Logan's neck, the trail of saliva glistening in the electric, halogen light that brightens up the room more than any form of sunlight ever could.   
Glimmering like stardust and melting ice. 

Logan looks at him; adoration reflecting in the amber of his eyes. And god, he makes it so easy to lean in. To allow himself to forget. To lean in and play fire. Play what once was James' sole game. 

It's mean. It's harsh. He's breaking Logan's heart in this desperate, useless attempt to get back at the boy that stands above it all. 

He hates himself for it. 

He hates James more. 

Because with James, with James it's always fire. And he set Kendall aflame, turned him into this blazing mess, filled with heat and fire. Turned him golden, only to throw him on the ground as if he's made out of stone. Trampled him out and didn't even burn his own soles in the process. 

Because Kendall cares too much. And James has the habit of not caring at all. 

 


End file.
